


It Must Be Mine

by fizzingtophats



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Emperor's New Clothes, Inspired By, Other, POV Second Person, Panic at the Disco - Freeform, Reader-Insert, demon brendon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 05:02:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzingtophats/pseuds/fizzingtophats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You couldn't sleep so you took a walk into the night, finally enjoying the darkness you've feared. But something, someone is watching you, and you're not sure just what to do once you identify the follower as something besides human. Or what to do when he looks at you like you're his prey. </p>
<p>Inspired by jinxx-is-the-moon's fanfiction, "Brendon Urie x Reader- Pray To God" and the Emperor's New Clothes music video by Panic! At The Disco.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Must Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Brendon Urie x Reader- Pray To God](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/207107) by jinxx-is-the-moon. 



You’ve never been on a walk this late before. It seemed like a cliche thing to do, being that you live alone and have trouble falling asleep. It would just add to the stereotypical reputation that precedes you at family gatherings, would just add to your long list of weird qualities that make you you. But somehow, you convinced yourself to trade tossing and turning in your half-empty bed for a walk lit by the street lamps that direct you towards the small parks in either direction of the sidewalk in front of your drive.  _ It’ll tone down your paranoia of being watched in the dark.  _ You think to yourself.  _ Don’t be a pussy, go walk and enjoy the moonlight.  _ You made it out to the park that appears on the right side path, next to the desolate library that closes before sundown. Nobody is there, but it’s close to 1:30 AM, so you’d expect nothing less. Which is perfect, because you really do have that sinking feeling every time you’re in the dark or somewhere extremely dimly lit, that feeling something is watching you, sees you, even though you can’t see them. Knowing that everyone is asleep or closed off in their respective houses reassures you that you have no reason to be afraid of the night that surrounds you. A fox pads about in the woods just beyond the mulch, but doesn’t venture out enough for you to see it. It steps feather light, almost like a graceful predator. You tell yourself you’re not the prey before checking the time on your cell phone. It’s 2:16 AM, how did the time slip away from you? 

 

“I should head back.” You say to the open air. It breaks the silence a little and for once, you feel like you’re spread out, stress strewn in different places so you don’t have to carry it all at once. You’re still not tired, but maybe getting a little too lost in thought is a good start. The fox is still in the leaves, and even though you know it’s not going to bother with you, the whisper of the foliage barely crunching beneath it is what sets you on your way. You start to exit through the mouth of the playground area when your mind presses you to turn around.  _ There won’t be anything to look at.  _ You mutter in your head.  _ Stop being paranoid and go home.  _ You force your nerve out of the way and begin walking, the wet street glistening from the orange haze of the street lights. The stars aren’t easy to see because of them, but you look up nonetheless, searching for that extra bright star that’s actually the planet Venus. You’re so caught up in looking up that you forget to watch your step and nearly slip in the street after rolling on the little asphalt pebbles beneath you. Then you hear it: The muffled scrape of barefeet on the road behind you. They’re silent now, stopping so you wouldn’t notice you’re being followed.  _ Maybe it wasn’t a fox in the woods.  _ You shake the thought off.  _ Or maybe it was, and this is too.  _ You calm yourself down before righting yourself and continuing your trek towards home.

 

You’ve still got around fifteen minutes to go, though your paranoia that’s urging you to move faster drags it out. You take subtly bigger and faster steps, never looking behind you because god knows what would be done if there really  _ is  _ something following you. But then you feel someone gaining on you, feel the air particles separate like a hand is reaching towards you and you give into your fear, breaking into a fast sprint. The street feels too open now. There’s a field to the side of you that leads to a stepping stone path in the woods behind your house and you break for it, trying to ignore the stitch in your side from lack of physical activity.  _ Fuck, stop hurting I have to get out of here!   _ You plead to the pain, though it’s no use. You try to go as long as you can, keep going until you’re gasping for air, gagging on the dry stick of your throat’s lining. Even though the follower is nowhere to be heard, that doesn’t stop you from attempting to sprint again, to try making it to your backyard,  _ somewhere,  _ only to feel the sharp pain in your abdomen triple. “Fuck, fuck,” You breathe out. But maybe when you veered off the road, your stalker gave up. Hopefully so, since your body’s given up as well. You sit in the silence for a while, waiting for your ragged breath to stabilize so you can get yourself home. You suddenly become overwhelmed with exhaustion, like it’s a poison running through your veins. A dull itch seeps into the back of your neck and you trace the line with your fingers, wincing at the pain that forms. Something’s scratched you  _ hard,  _ but until now your adrenaline rush was numbing it. 

 

“You’re a lot more determined to escape than I had hoped.” You feel your heart jump into your throat before you look towards the voice. Leaned against a pine tree is a dark haired man in tight black jeans, seemingly the only thing he appears to be wearing. It’s difficult to see him properly, but you’re sure that he’s not only in his twenties, but smiling smugly at your crumpled stature, one hand clutching your side. “The scratch is only just now affecting you, yeah?” He laughs to himself and you can feel your anger bubbling out the exhaustion. How can he laugh at terrorizing you? What kind of sick fuck… “I can’t believe you never looked back  _ once.  _ I figured you would try to run once your paranoia took over, not that I needed that advantage over you. But adrenaline and fear pile up against you, and fear always wins that fight.” You feel for you pocket knife in your jeans, squeezing around it securely but not drawing it.

 

“I’m not afraid of you.” You spit confidently. “If I was, I would have looked back to see, wouldn’t I?”

 

“Oh, but you are. I bet it’s radiating off of you like perfume.”  _ I’m gonna punch him in his fucking face.  _

_ “ _ Yeah? It’s better than reeking like a stalky bastard like you.” He snorts at that and starts to walk towards you, eyes darker than the woods around you. You back up a few steps before stopping, trying to hold your ground. You may not be a runner, but he looks like he weighs maybe a hundred-fifty pounds, maybe a toddler’s weight and yours put together. You could take him, or wound him enough to get away in the least. 

 

“You should learn how to speak kindly to superiors.” He says in a dangerously serious tone. ‘I’d hate to have to make you behave instead of rewarding you for doing so without asking.” He continues to approach you, hips cocked arrogantly as he strides.

 

“You should learn your fucking place.” You growl, clenching your fists. “Because you’re nothing but street scum for following me around. I don’t want to beat your ass, but boy, I will if you don’t go.” The threat passes through a different filter to him and he laughs before closing the space between you and him, leaning in close to you. Your rabbiting pulse is booming through your head, throat caught in a swallow of nerve. You don’t know what he’s doing until his nose is pressed against your throat, taking in the smell of you. You back away instinctively, but he grabs you and holds you in place, withdrawing from your skin with an intoxicated demeanor. 

 

“Your fear is selling you out,” He informs you. “I can  _ taste  _ the nerve breaking from your pores.” He eyes your neck again longingly, but presses his lips towards yours.  _ That’s it, I’m fucking done.  _ You feel the anger claw into your thinking space as you wrestle your hand away from his grip and close it into a fist again, swinging as hard as your anger pushes you to. He drops you and rubs the side of his jaw, face twisted with a grin like you were a child who hit him, not a grown person. “You really think fighting me is going to help you now?” He booms, hands shielding his face from you. “Do you honestly think you’re leaving me?” His hands glide away from his face, revealing golden green eyes shining behind them, only they were dark brown seconds ago. He has a predatory look and when he grins, you see the fangs he runs his tongue over, lips blackening. You watch in both awe and horror as his skin convulses and turns a sickening gray, nails elongating into claws as his face contorts into a devilish reflection, horns breaking through the skin on his forehead and shoulders, bare chest displaying almost a brand across it. 

 

“Ohmygod…” You whisper, trying desperately to stand up. He turns to look at you and cocks his head animalistically, teeth shining in the moonlight.

 

“More of the opposite, actually.” He growls. You finally get your legs to hold you and then you’re running, not towards your house but further into the woods, anywhere away from  _ him,  _ whatever  _ he  _ even is. Brambles and thorns tear into you, taking whatever fabric or flesh it can as you bound by. You’re cut and bloody, but you know that if you stop, you won’t be waking up in your bed tomorrow morning. You see the river you used to tube on in front of you, a holy grail, a safe haven. You’re so close to jumping off the rocky ledge into the water before a grey hand presses against your throat, legs hooking into yours as he squeezes tightly. You fight for consciousness but the hold cuts off the oxygen in your blood and the last thing you see is the river that could’ve saved your life, had you just been a little faster. 

The first thing you become aware of when you wake is how cold it is. You move an arm hesitantly, only to be greeted by a hollow ache.  The atmosphere of the room is cavernous, light intruding from beyond the stony faces of the floors and walls. Your throat has bruising around it, tender spots that make you shudder when you press your fingertips against them. You can smell the moisture in the air as you sit up slowly, trying to come to terms with what’s happened. You went for a walk, got stalked by some guy, he tried to kiss you, you punched him, he turned into a monster, and then he (you assume) choked you out. You feel your pockets for your phone, but it must’ve fallen away from you while you were running at some point. You stand up to look around and upon your first step you hear a chilling crackle beneath you. A skeletal hand pokes out from underneath your sneaker, bone stained dark with age. They’re everywhere, bones are in scattered arrangements on the ground, some parts of it unseen by the mass of remains. You stare at the hand, frozen with the idea of what you’ve done. Then you remove your foot and kneel down to hold it, flexing the dead fingers with a numbed intrigue. There has to be at least a hundred full bodies here, all of them disassembled and scattered. You’re crying before you can tell, unsure as to why you are. Maybe for the people who used to be alive, now degraded to the floor you walk on. You drop the hand and pull your knees to your chest, burying your face in between them.

 

“God, somebody please…” You sob, muffling your cries with your arms.  You’ve never been one to pray, but something about the sight of all those remains makes you feel so hopeless you could fall dead now and find it better. “Help them.” You whisper softly, sniffling. You run your fingers through the back of your hair, trying to simulate another person’s comfort. You know he’s watching you, hiding in the shadows. You look up from your shelter and see his eyes glinting in the bluish darkness of the cavern, keeping his distance.

“God can’t help you or them. You’re in my domain.” His voice is smooth and deep, like it was before you punched him. But you can tell he is still gray-skinned, still inhuman.  _ Still trying to own me.  _ You think quietly. “They’re all condemned by themselves. I just own the land they get dumped on.” He explains boredly. You feel angry again, hearing him talk about the bodies like they were trash. 

 

“A-And what abou-t m-me?” You ask, voice shaking with anger and fear. He shakes his head and inhales deeply, nearing you, but still far away.

 

“I wanted you, so I took you.” He says simply. “I see what’s mine and I take it.” You laugh despairingly and swallow your tears.

 

“I am not yours. And as long as I’m alive, I never will be.” You respond defiantly. He’s somewhere behind you, closer than before.

 

“Darling, you’ve been dead since you failed to get in the river.” You feel your pulse, still rabbiting, body still warm. You want to call him a liar, but he continues before you can. “This is the Underground. The bridge between The Veil and Hell. If you return to earth, you’ll just fall through to me again. You’re too tainted for Heaven, too pure for Hell.” He licks his lips as he looks at you, circling around, tongue still pink like a human’s. You don’t have anything to say to that, don’t have a word to conceive the feelings that are overwhelming you. The position you’re seated in feels secure, but the dull pain in the dip of your spine forces you to stand. On your way up, you remember your pocket knife and slide it out of your pocket. You tuck it up your sleeve, read to withdraw it and stab him should you find the opportunity.

 

“I can’t go home…?” You whisper. A hand wraps around your waist and turns you into him, pressing your chest to his. You look into his eyes and see the triumph flash in them as he looks back at you. Your eyes keep the false veil of defeat, which he seems to take seriously.

 

“I’m your home. You belong to me now.’ He says softly, pulling you close enough that when he kisses you, you can’t pull back. You maneuver your hand to under his arm, sliding the knife open in your hand. You’re about to drive it into him when he bites your neck suddenly,  _ painfully,  _ causing you to cry out and drop your weapon. “You’re not as clever as you think.” He growls, waving his hand. As soon as he does, you feel your muscles tense up, your body turning stiff as you become suspended in the air. Your head is drawn back, but your face muscles still work in favor of you, vocal chords straining to wake up. “I told you, if you didn’t behave, I’d make you. You will submit to me, so help me otherwise.” 

 

You’re floating on your back now, and you can feel the cold air hit your middle as your shirt rides up. He notices too, taking advantage of it to trace his nail along the waist of your jeans, fingers digging into your hip bones until he breaks the skin. It doesn’t hurt enough to make you scream, but you become vocal when he attaches his mouth to the same places, biting harder than he scratched, nursing the blood that surfaces. You let out an uneven cry as he digs in deeper, resurfacing with lips glistening from your blood before pressing his mouth to yours, passing the metallic taste to you, tongue pushing in invasively. You get so caught up in everything you barely notice him laugh, tongue tracing your teeth marks on his lower lip. His hands frame your collarbones as he presses you down to the ground, climbing on top of you. He’s surprisingly warm for something of a demon, and you feel his pulse when you press your hand against his neck to stroke his jaw with your thumb. It’s not regular, but he does have a heartbeat. He grinds down, pressed flush against you. The way he moves his hands on your body, mouth desperate to taste you, the control you’ve been trying to conserve has all but left you. The last shred of defiance leaves as you bare your neck for him, listening to his victorious laugh. 

 

“Mine.” He whispers heavily. He bites your neck possessively, nails tearing into the fabric of your clothes. When you don’t say anything, he bites harder, lapping up the blood thereafter. You whimper a little, but manage a response all the same.

“Yours.”


End file.
